When my mom first married my dad, she had a cat. So I always knew this cat.
He was huge. I mean, he was so fat, when he sat around, he sat around.
He was also a mighty warrior and athlete. He kept the neighborhood dogs from shitting in our yard. He leaped our fence in a single bound.
Oh, the stories I could tell.
I was devastated when he died.
It occurs to me that every time I am expected to hate myself for being fat, I should think of him, clearing the fence, like a magnificent furry zeppelin.
That bad boy would be Penelope. That's right, a boy named Penelope. I got him on my Aunt's farm at about 5 weeks, and she declared him to be a girl. So I gave him that name because my friend Lorraine at work liked it. In the meantime, he starts vaulting fences, fighting with neighboring cats and dogs, so like a boy. One day I see him licking his little pink penis, freak out, get him nutted, but he would only come to Penelope.
ReplyDelete